


Camp Follower

by MissBMarie



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Raphatello, TMNT, Turtlecest, tcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBMarie/pseuds/MissBMarie
Summary: After his brother's army wins a tide-changing battle by joining forces with a human clan, Raphael makes a new comrade in Casey Jones. They combine their efforts to continue to the war against the Foot Clan.Though Leonardo had wished for a small baggage train, the human clan had a much larger group of camp followers behind them, and after overturning a city, even more have chosen to leave their ruined homes behind.Raphael finds that one camp follower in particular seems different from the rest. Perhaps different than anyone he's ever met.





	1. Chapter One

........

 

It was the noise that surprised Raphael; in its sheer magnitude. He understood now why Leonardo had desired for their camp followers to be few in number. Before they’d travelled north, to the city of Ginzborne, and before they’d allied with this new rebellion of human forces, their own baggage train had been minimal and well maintained.

But with the need for more men at arms, they’d had little choice but to accept the new masses of people; the families and merchants that were already established under their newest  collaborator’s campaign. They were beneficial, in some regards, meeting many of the encamped soldiers needs. In particular, selling goods or services that the military did not supply: cooking, laundering, liquor, nursing, sexual services and sutlery. They certainly had their values, even the family members, who would at times act as seamstresses, forgers and maesters, if the need arose. However, camp followers also needed to be fed, clothed, transported and guarded. And sometimes, policed; as they were often among the most determined scavengers and looters after battles and whilst on the march.

Additionally, while the raid of Ginzborne relieved its citizens from the tyrannical rule of the Foot Clan, the resulting carnage left many without homes. Left servants without masters. Masters without coin. There was now an entire slew of individuals abandoning the city in hopes of survival following the very successful Hamato Clan army.

“Leo is gonna have a fit.” Raphael lamented, staring out at the crowding swarms of people from atop his warhorse. Whatever semblance of organization Leonardo had once established was clearly not carrying over to the newcomers.

“He runs a pretty tight ship then, huh?” Casey asked from beside him. The young man was also on his own respective horse, but not bothering to maintain any proper posture. Instead, he leaned far over so that he might alleviate his weight against the beast’s neck. He considered the crowd as well, as he chewed relentlessly on the blade of wood trapped between his teeth.

Raphael had met this young man not but a fortnight ago, when representatives of their respective armies had met in secret, and formed an alliance. The purpose of such was to increase the success rate of an attack on the Foot Clan squadron holding up in Ginzborne. They’d worked so well together, Leonardo took the initiative to suggest they continue their efforts as one. And, being a highborn lord, he promised handsome rewards for their loyalty.

So this rouge, unattributed band of human misfits took up arms under the Hamato flag.

At first, Raphael had been weary of the union. These men and women were skilled in battle, no doubt, but they were renegades, not accustomed to following orders. Intimidated by authority. Considering Raphael’s own penchant for defiance, it was something he was able to immediately recognize.

However, the man that now rode beside him had explained their decision in the most simple, yet convincing, terms.

“S’not so much a leader we’re choosin’ to follow.” Casey had said, “But an ideal. The danger the Foot Clan presents can’t be ignored anymore. We’ll give ground, and serve, if it means maintaining our freedom.”

Casey Jones had successfully swayed him.

“Well, would you look at that.” Casey’s voice was faint. Raphael hadn’t noticed the young man had slowed his horse’s leisurely trot to a halt. He frowned, as it took much effort to turn his own horse around in the crowd.

“Enough people watching, we have to report to our unit.” Raphael said gruffly, making no effort to hide his annoyance. Casey, however, paid little mind. He maneuvered his horse forward a few steps, cleared his throat, and in a loud voice called out,

“Cuttin’ such lovely hair? I’d pay good coin to see it remain atop your head.”

Raphael watched both the merchant and the young woman at his stand startle, and their heads turn up toward Casey, who’d straightened to his full height. The woman’s bright blue eyes, at first confused, then narrowed suspiciously.

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired.

“Ya mean to cut your hair?” he asked, indicating the many partially threaded hackles already on the man’s stand, no doubt purchases from other women. As though it were something to be embarrassed of, or perhaps simply an unconscious response from her, the woman reached up, small fingers lacing through the ends of her long red hair.

“What business is it of yours?” The merchant hotly interjected. Casey was unperturbed.

“As I said,” he leaned over again, not even acknowledging the man, his eyes focused solely on his young and pretty patron, “I’d pay good coin to see it remain atop your head.” As though to prove his point, Casey dipped his fingers into his coin purse, producing 3 silver coins. The woman frowned deeply, eyeing him wearily. She considered him a moment, then said:

“The man offers me five.”

Raphael could not harbor the chuckle that rose to his lips. No woman’s hair was worth 5 silver. She was playing him. The woman cast Raphael a quick, sharp look before returning her gaze to Casey, setting her lips in a firm line and lifting her chin defiantly.

Casey mulled it over for barely a moment.

“Five then.” he said.

She took the coin, and kept her hair.

As the young woman moved to step away from the now disgruntled merchant, Casey turned his horse so that he might stride alongside her.

“They call me Casey Jones.” he said smoothly. She was unimpressed, lifting a single brow at him.

“That is what they call you?” She asked, “So, that is to say, you are called something other than your given name?” Casey frowned then, his head tipping ever so slightly.

“What?” he blurted with furrowed brows. The woman just barely smirked beneath her mask of ice.

“You said: They call you Casey Jones. As though that is not your true name, but simply what you are called.” Casey gawked at her a moment, brows still glued low upon his head, his brain working through her words.

“I’m called that because it’s my name.” he said with finality. The woman eyed him with an upturned nose.

“Perhaps, then, you should consider being clearer with the intention of your words.” She told him, then sharply turned a corner. Casey scoffed, tugging the reins of his horse and following in suit.

“And what might your name be?” he asked as he caught up to her. Raphael did not pursue them further, but the woman had stopped walking, now staring up at Casey with a thoughtful look, her eyes perusing him with deep scrutiny. When she made a decision, she inhaled sharply.

“They call me April.” She said mockingly. A grin spread over Casey’s lips and he leaned toward her.

“And why might they call you that?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“And who, exactly, needs to know?” The voice was sharp and direct, appearing almost out of thin air, it’s source stepping in closely behind the woman, standing nearly a head taller than her.

Raphael was dutifully surprised. This terrapin man eyed Casey in what only could be called a threatening manner. He was tall, quite tall, with a faded olive tone to his slightly speckled skin. He was dressed similarly to the woman: finer than a servant, but having seen better days. No doubt they were both remnants of Ginzborne’s citizens.

His shoulders were broad, with some indication of a maintained physique beneath his tattered garbs. On his back was a heavy looking pack, with two bedrolls firmly attached. They were camp followers it seemed. He held a satchel in his hand, which he pointedly handed to the young woman, April. She wound it over her torso.

“They call him Casey Jones,” April told her companion, “He paid me 5 silver for my hair.” The terrapin man frowned deeply, eyes forgoing their glaring hold on Casey to instead examine her. He meet her face with a look of confusion. Her brows rose again, “Five coins, to _leave my hair atop my head_.” she parroted his earlier words, making no attempt to hide her snark.

The terrapin man huffed, nostrils flaring.

“You’re her husband?” Casey asked. If he was intimidated by the man’s presence, the young renegade made no indication of it, holding tight to his bravado. Still, Raphael thought perhaps this terrapin’s icy glare might have made **him** stop in his tracks.

“No more than your coin gives you any right to that hair of hers. Is that clear, Casey Jones?” he all but spat. Casey laughed, and it was a short, somewhat amused, but moreso condescending of a sound. He turned his face away and spit out the pick between his teeth before running his tongue prominently over his canines.

“Obviously.” He said, not attempting to withhold his contempt. His icy tone, however, did not last long, and he instead turned his attention back to the woman, smiling brightly. “In that case, _if you so please_ , we’d, uh, certainly welcome your presence this evening for dinner. Unit 85.” He pulled on the reins of his horse, promptly turning it about face. “ _If you so please_.” He repeated with a smirk. The woman eyed him, and though her brows remained stiff against her forehead, her lips curved upward.

“C’mon Raph.” Casey said as he made his leave.

It was then the terrapin man took notice of Raphael. It seemed he was just as surprised at what he saw.

Terrapins were few and far apart, after all.

 

.........


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not long after that Casey asked her to accompany him to his tent.
> 
> Raphael had readied himself for some type of reaction from the man beside him. Perhaps a verbal objection, or even an attempt to physically intervene.

Raphael had no expectations that the young woman would join them for dinner. And though Casey boasted about the effectiveness of his suave persona, Raphael got the impression he also did not anticipate her company that night.  

So imagine their surprise when her figure was seen approaching their camp. All ten men around their fire turned when she neared, illuminated by the firelight that blossomed from every campsite within the unit. They cast hot hues over her pale skin and lit her already brightly colored hair ablaze. 

And if it were possible, even more surprising was who she’d brought in tow. The tall terrapin man followed a few steps behind her, close enough to be within reach, yet without crowding her space. While she offered up a smile upon their arrival, the man was very plainly glowering. 

“I imagine you don’t mind that I’ve brought my companion,” she said to Casey, and though she certainly meant it to be a statement, a shaky chord in her voice revealed her trepidation. Casey offered her a broad grin,

“Of course not,” he said, and quickly turned to Raphael, urging him to move aside so that she might sit beside him. Raphael hesitated but a moment before relenting, finding himself unable to hide his amusement at Casey’s clear enthusiasm. Though their logs only sat two, and there was one across the fire that was currently unoccupied, the terrapin man pointedly came up beside Raphael.

“Do you mind?” he asked. 

Years of training in the art of ninjutsu and war tactics left Raphael incapable of withholding himself from a bodily evaluation. Raph had thought the man tall before, when he sat above him from atop his warhorse. Now, however, as their new company stood over him in his seated position, his stature proved even more impressive. 

What was equally impressive was the sharp glint in his dark eyes, daring Raphael to deny him. 

Raphael shook his head, moving to allow him space. The man no doubt did this in order to remain as close to April as possible. Though they had made it clear the two were not involved romantically, it was evident this man was very protective of her, and took on this role as guardian with an unyielding ferocity. 

“We’ve brought along bread and beans.” April announced, motioning to the terrapin man. He followed her lead, producing them from his pack, wrapped in cloth. Casey hummed approvingly, bracing his elbows over his knees and turning toward her.

“Thoughtful of you.” he said, “We’ve meat and ale, if you’d like to partake.” he offered, grinning wildly as he produced a cup. She eyed him, her pretty painted lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks as she considered him. 

“Why not.” She decided. Casey promptly poured her drink, before turning to the terrapin beside Raphael.

“And you, my friend?” He asked, holding out the pitcher. Raphael did not have to be looking at him to feel the man beside him tense. There was a moment of pause as he hesitated, and Raphael saw concern cross April’s features.

With a sigh, Raph took the pitcher in his own hand, poured a cup, and passed it along.

“And what’ll we call you?” He asked, turning toward the other terrapin. Again, there was silence, the man’s eyes scanning the entirety of Raphael’s face. Strangely, it reminded him of the way Leonardo analyzed a battle board. Finally, he accepted the cup.

“Donatello.” he told them.  

Feeling it was deserved, Raphael poured his own ale before relinquishing the pitcher back to Casey. 

“You’re both from Ginzborne then?” Casey asked, “Following the Hamato army?” April tentatively sipped at her ale, nodding. 

“Born and raised.” She said, and if she was feeling at all glum about leaving her home behind, she made no indication of it. “My father was a member of the original advisory council. Before the Foot Clan’s integration.”

Now that was a bit interesting, and Casey cast a quick glance toward Raphael. 

“Was your father a proponent of the integration?” Raphael asked in as cavalier a tone as he could muster. April’s bright eyes shot up at him, and her lips fell into a line.

“No,” she said sternly, “Not at all.” 

Raphael was glad to hear that. She went on to tell them that her father was lost in the raid, having been at the city hall when the fighting began. If he was not killed on the spot for being a conspirator, then he was certainly caught in the crossfire. She and Donatello were spared that fate, having been in the maester’s library at the time, and immediately bunkered down and hid when the battle began.

“Maesters?” Raphael repeated. April hummed her confirmation.

“Which is why we decided to follow the Hamato Army.” she explained, “With no home to return to, this was the best use of our skills.” 

Casey grinned beside her.

“You are more than welcome to use your skills on me any day, Red.” he said smoothly. 

She’d looked away shyly, her cheeks lifting with her smile. For a time, that was how the status quo remained. Casey made no attempts at subtlety, prompting a number of giggles from the young woman. She reprimanded his advances while flirtatiously maintaining a close proximity, even initiating physical contact.    
  
It was not long after that Casey asked her to accompany him to his tent. 

Raphael had readied himself for some type of reaction from the man beside him. Perhaps a verbal objection, or even an attempt to physically intervene. However, neither of those things happened. He did not even cast them a glance as they rose from their seats, and Casey led her away from the fire’s glow.

This was by no means an uncommon practice. Before all of these new additions, the Hamato clan baggage train consisted mostly of family members, maesters and merchants. Raphael had seen a handful of courtships taking place. He himself had partook in an offer on more than one occasion.

Their new situation, however, was different. Many of their new camp followers were without means. Without food, shelter or protection. Crime was bound to rise amongst such large masses of people. He’d been told: it was not courtship many of these camp followers were seeking out, but rather a chance at some semblance of livelihood in exchange for their companionship. 

Raphael understood. He did not look down upon it. But in truth, it left him feeling guilty. Though the fault was not with him or his army, who’d liberated Ginzborne, he was overwhelmed with empathy for their situations, and what little he could do about it-

 

_ SNAP _

 

-The abrupt sound startled Raphael from his thoughts, and his head whirled around. Though it was not, in all truths, all that loud, it’s nearness was alarming. What he found was the terrapin man, Donatello, winding a leather strap around his hand, pulling tight to test its strength. He’d fastened it to what appeared to be a bit ring. The man had taken note of Raphael’s sudden movement.

“Apologies.” Donatello said, not with -or without- earnestness. Raphael’s shoulders settled and he squinted in the fire’s light.

“That a bridle you’re making?” He asked. The man nodded.

“Yes.” He inhaled deeply, “Because my lady ' _ kept her hair atop her head' _ , we were able to afford ourselves the purchase of a hackney today.” he explained, and though his snark was clear, it lacked the bite it had earlier that day. Raphael watched him as he spoke. Donatello didn’t spare him a glance, instead, focused on his work. Large, thick fingers wound the crownpiece through the browband, performing intricate details with a shocking delicateness and accuracy.

Though Raphael thought it was of no surprise that a maester would have hands that exhibited such precision, the thickness of his forearms was surprising. Raphael caught the stretching of Donatello’s garbs as they tightened around his biceps with any large movement. The skin at his jaw pulled taut as he worked, perhaps from chewing on the inside of his cheek. The muscle would tighten, creating a prominent line down his neck. 

“However,” Donatello continued, “So much travel has been strenuous on her. So in addition to a pack horse, it will also serve to aid her on long journeys. I finished making the saddle earlier today-”

“You made it?” Raphael interrupted. Donatello looked to him then, meeting his gaze. He seemed indignant at first. If he intended to vocalize such, Raph would certainly argue it was in no way farfetched for him to be skeptical. This man was no highborn, but was no peasant either. A commoner, for certain, but a well-versed and highly educated one. Companion to a counselor’s daughter, a maester, and also a craftsmen? That would be quite an impressive list of skill-sets. Donatello’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened, but then he sighed audibly 

“Made it, yes.” He said, and held up the bridle that he was now attaching the reins to. “I found most of the baggage train merchants had shotty craftsmanship.” he declared. “I’ve been working on it for some time, and wrapped it up today, seeing as we now have a horse to put it on.” 

Raphael watched again as his hands wound the leather, pulling tight. It looked sturdy, well made, and entirely impressive.

Almost as impressive as those skilled, calloused fingers.

A soft thud met his ears, the sound of a bedroll hitting the ground. Donatello stuffed the bridle safely away, and unrolled one of the two bedrolls he’d brought. He turned pointedly to Raphael.

“Any objections if I sleep here?” He asked, indicating to the empty space behind them, only feet away from Raphael’s own tent. He shook his head.

As the man began to settle in, Raphael decided he ought to as well. The soft moaning and padding from Casey’s tent beside him being no incentive to stay awake. He emptied his cup, tossing it with the others, then moved toward his makeshift home. 

“Can I pose you a question?” Donatello’s voice was steady, but hesitant. Raphael turned back around, facing the man as he sat up in his bedroll. He took that as affirmation to continue, “The Hamato Commander-in-Chief, he is terrapin, along with one of his captains.” The man said. Raphael inhaled sharply, crossing his arms over his chest and squaring his shoulders out of reflex.

“That is not a question.” he noted. Donatello huffed, then licked his lips. 

“Are you happy to serve them?” he asked, “Are they the honorable men rumors claim them to be?” 

It was no surprise Donatello had no idea who Raphael was, or of his ranking. This man would not be the first to assume he was just another soldier. It wasn’t common for a captain to spend quite so much time with his unit, as to forego a captain’s quarters to make camp with this men. However, it was a practice Raphael had long ago adopted, and to his surprise and approval, one Casey also shared. Raphael, for posterity sake,  **did** answer honestly: 

“I would certainly like to think so.” he said “I would serve no other than Commander Leonardo.” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His presence was, at best, odd. He was not technically invited into their unit, and was not directly in service to any one of the troops.

When morning came, Raphael was surprised to find the tall terrapin cooking over the fire. He exited his tent to the smell of beans and meat, the prior night’s supperware was cleaned and ready for use, and the campground was thoroughly tidied. April was approaching with bucket of fresh water in her hands.

“Is this enough, Don?” She asked, carefully setting it down beside him. Donatello nodded, beckoning her to sit. He had a few pots over the fire pit, and promptly lifted one off.

“Here.” He said, pouring its liquid contents into a cup. “Drink this.” he instructed. Raphael approached, curiously peering into the pot. Though he could not quite tell it’s color, it appeared dark, and there was the clear indication of leaves and crushed roots inside.

“What’s that?” he asked as he rounded them, moving to sit on the opposite log. He’d startled them, and for a moment Donatello gripped the pot protectively. The man notably hesitated before answering.

“Herbs,” Donatello replied, and nodded to April, encouraging her to drink more, “To insure she does not become with child.” he explained. Raphael frowned.

“That’s not the color or consistency I’ve seen in tansy tea.” he said, “Do you use somethin’ else?” Donatello turned toward him. A look of surprise crossed his features first, followed by a rather judgmental rise of a brow bone.

“You’re observant.” He stated, and gave an affirming sigh. He paused, then said quietly: “I use Silphium.” Raphael’s own brow rose.

“Silphium?” He parroted, using an equally hushed tone, “That ain’t somethin’ a person can easily get their hands on these days.” Raphael noted.

And there was that brow again.

This time, Donatello’s lips curved in a surprisingly smug manner, and he pressed a single digit to his mouth, silently making a ‘ _shh_ ’ gesture. Raphael was impressed enough to not withhold a grin, and was gifted with one in return.

The next several days were similar to the last. In the mornings Raphael and Casey would meet with Leonardo and the other captains to begin the trudge forward on their journey. They would continue their march until early evening, and though they’d send their units back to make camp, the captains would stay behind to reconvene on plans for the upcoming weeks.

When they returned, it was to a prepared dinner, and fresh campsite. Casey’s tent would already be built and ready for him.

“It was more tedious a task than I gave it credit.” April admitted the first night, “Don helped, though I think I have the hang of it now.”

Their troops would partake in the meal, bringing their own offerings. After dinner, Casey and April would flirt and tease over drinks as the soldiers swapped stories and were entertained by their own company.

Donatello remained as well, though he rarely engaged the group, instead, paying mind only to April, and keeping his hands busy. It seemed he was always working on something. Winding leather, whittling wood, heating and bending metal. He had a book he kept with him that he often referenced and was always scribbling in it. He aided April whenever she might be in need. Overall, he was like her caretaker, and by default, the camps.

Still, his presence was, at best, odd. He was not technically invited into their unit, and was not directly in service to any one of the troops. But, if Raphael were being honest, he’d never had such a clean and organized campsite. And in any case, no one else said a word about it, though the soldiers certainly shared curious glances on occasion.

So, the status quo remained for quite some time.

Eventually, Raphael was no longer surprised to find April and Donatello sitting beside the fire every morning, trading utensils as they tended to different hanging pots.

Donatello handed her the herbal drink.

“All of it.” He instructed. April complied dutifully, but winced.

“It works, for certain.” she said, and pointedly gripped her pelvis, massaging into the flesh. Donatello’s eyes followed the movement.

“Your moonblood?” he asked quietly. April nodded.

“Not as of when I woke,” she said, “but soon.” Donatello nodded and pointedly looked away.

“I’ll have stones and herbs ready for you tonight, then.” he told her. April smiled gratefully, but it was short lived. “Have you warned him?” Donatello asked, staring into a pot as he rhythmically stirred its contents, “The one _they call Casey Jones_?” April worried her lips.

“I will.” she promised. She finished her cup before returning to Casey’s tent, where he could be heard moaning and groaning as consciousness beckoned him. Donatello turned to watch her go and caught sight of Raphael in his peripherals. The man inhaled sharply before he looked back to the fire. He filled a dish, extending it out to Raphael as he approached, as he had every morning since his arrival.

“Good morning.” he said. Raphael accepted the gesture, sitting on the log beside his, however, as he sat, the strap on his traveling pack came loose, and fell to his side with a snap, it’s contents spilling about the ground. He’d tried to use his free hand to snag it, but with the other balancing the bowl of food, it was an impossible task.

So instead he allowed a few expletives to leave his lips as he lowered to the ground, seeking out someplace to put his bowl.  

“I told you your craftsman was shotty.” Donatello’s voice wasn’t as piercing as Raphael imagined it could have been. In fact, it was almost amused. He came to Raphael’s side and alleviated him of the bowl. Raphael shrugged off his pack and moved to gather his belongings. “Give it here.” Donatello instructed, holding out an open palm.

Raphael spared a glance at those skilled fingers. They looked as worn as any soldiers.

Raphael handed it over, and Donatello returned his bowl to him. After examining it a moment, Donatello rose, and made his way to his own pack. He retrieved a few tools, then returned to his log, sitting down with a thud. He tore out the current strap mercilessly, the threads audibly ripping apart. Then he tossed the thin fabric aside, and drew from his pack a strip of leather.

He placed it in his lap as his long legs folded beneath him. The item was held close to his face as his thick fingers pinched a large needle, and he set to work. He threaded the new strap, this one much thicker than the last, covering the expanse of already torn fabric. His neck arched as he worked, his eyes wide, dark irises following his movements. After a moment though, he stopped.

“You ought to eat that before it gets cold.” he told Raphael. The man didn’t wait for a response as Raphael processed his words.

He’d been staring.

Raphael quickly emptied his bowl.

 

\--------------------------------

 

“If we move any further east, we’ll be entering the lower climates. Riverside is always colder.” Captain Usagi trailed his finger along the map’s creases and bumps, traversing its planes to create a visual of their perspective route. Casey huffed from beside him.

“The men can handle it.” he said with certainty. Leonardo cast him a glance,

“It is not the men that are of concern.” he explained, though his fingers remained pinched over his jaw, his palm covering his mouth. Raphael couldn’t see it, but he knew his brother was worrying his lips.

“It’s not ideal.” Raphael said, “but we have to restock our supplies.” He moved to round the the two other captains, approaching Leonardo. “And Riverside is our best option for that. Their counsel is sympathetic to the Hamato clan. If we try to go any further west..”

“...we’ll run into Foot territory.” Leonardo acknowledged with a sigh. Finally, that hand moved, only to plant itself and its counterpart on the edge of the table that, at the moment, was in total disarray. Raphael sighed, heavy and irritated.

“We did all we could, brother, to prepare ourselves for the pressure of this massive army, and its baggage train.” he reminded Leonardo, and then came up beside his shoulder, so that he might speak lower and more evenly. “We did what we could, our best calculated efforts.” he insisted.

“Captain Raphael is right.” Usagi said. Leonardo looked up at that, meeting his gaze. Raphael followed the gesture, and found the rabbit’s normally stoic eyes softened. “The situation is unavoidable. We will simply have to adapt.”

His brother’s gaze returned to the table, and Leonardo put all his weight against it, staring down at the map as though if he looked long enough, another solution would present itself.

Or perhaps he just needed to alleviate some of that weight he insisted on carrying upon his shoulders.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Despite the long day the evening had come early, as the sun’s cycles were beginning to shorten. Raphael had thought to remain at his brother’s side, but he knew how Leonardo liked to stew in private. Though, unsurprisingly, he’d allowed Usagi to stay.

“I won’t lie, I could stand to be in civilization again.” Casey mused from beside him as they made their way back to camp. He promptly lifted an arm and inhaled sharply. “I could use a proper wash.” he declared.

“Aye, you certainly could.” The familiar voice beckoned both men to turn around. Casey laughed out loud as Donatello cast him a disdainful stare, beak wrinkling for emphasis. Before he could retort, Donatello handed off a parcel to him. It was a heavy, lumpy sac. “Stones, for the Lady April.” he said, “Take these to her and put them in a kettle over the fire.” he instructed.

Normally, Casey would opt to shrug away from such a duty. Raphael watched, however, as he took up the bundle and nodded in acknowledgment. Donatello surveyed him for but a moment before turning to pick up another bundle.

“You ought to help him with those.” Casey indicated, before turning to leave towards camp on his own. Raphael moved to do as such, seeing as the other terrapin had began gathering a heap clothes and beddings in his arms. It seemed he’d gone to great effort to clean all the available rags, garments and bedding in their camp during the day. Even his own, as he was currently in a pair of worn working tobi, with tasuki cord tying up his sleeves.

It was strange, the air this man had about him. Though his regular garb was not that of a servant, the ware and tare of the war and travel had insured they’d seen better days. And yet, he still seemed just as donnish as if we were wearing fine silks. None of his intellect or scholarly aura was dulled in the slightest.

“That is not necessary.” Donatello insisted, pulling one cloth tight over another.  “I am quite capable of completing the task on my own-”

“Course you are.” Raphael said as he scooped up one of the bundles and hoisted it over his shoulder, balancing it with one arm, “But there is no need to.”

Donatello stared at him for a moment. It was a hard stare, one he often directed at Casey. His eyes would alternate back and fourth in very tiny, subtle movements. Raphael had come to understand it as an analytic look. He was piecing apart his subject, filing away information.

Raphael very much missed being an observer to this behavior, rather than the one in question. In the moments Don’s eyes moved along his face, he felt bare. Vulnerable.

“Have it your way.”  Don said with a sigh, then lifted his own bundle in the same single handed fashion. Raphael scoffed. Strong for a scholar, a maester, a craftsman.

 

\----------------------

 

Though everything seemed in order upon their return to camp, Raphael noticed a very distinct weight in the air. More than likely due to her current state, April was not her normally witty and exuberant self. Donatello, however, was even more distant than normal, casting her and Casey many guarded glances. They’d said little throughout the whole evening, until April began gripping her abdomen. Donatello immediately took notice,

“The stones should be ready.” he told her, moving over the fire and lifting the pot away from the flames. Using flat wooden tools, he then proceeded to pluck the stones from the water, and wrapped them in waiting strips of cloth.

"You’re quite good at this.” Casey noted, extending a hand to take the stone and pass it along to April. Donatello gave a nonchalant shrug, looking as though he intended to respond, but April spoke first,

“That he is.” She said, momentarily directing a grateful gaze his way. Casey looked to the pile of stones.

“We could retire now,” he said, “Take the the stones with us.”

Raphael had thought it a suitable suggestion, however, Donatello and April had immediately frozen. The terrapin’s hands ceased their movement, and slowly, he lifted his eyes towards them. April also gave pause, her head tipping as she examined his face. Then, hesitantly, she nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “That would be good.”

If Casey was put off by their behavior he made no indication of it, and Raphael absently wondered if the man had even noticed. Focused as he was on the battlefield, the skill did not translate into his everyday life. Nevertheless, he gathered up the stones Donatello had prepared, and ushered April away for the night.

Before the canvas of their tent fell, April cast Donatello a smile.

For a few moments, they remained quiet. Donatello emptied the pot and tidied up the grounds.

“He is a difficult one to decipher.” the man said as he made his way back to his seat, “ _The one they call Casey Jones_.” he quipped. Raphael frowned.

“I don’t know how you mean.” he said honestly.

Don pointedly gnawed on the corner of his lip, eyes focused intently on the fire, before he sighed, and looked to Raphael with a very small, very unexpected smile.

“She is on her moonblood.” he said, “I - _we_ \- expected him to take another to bed. It is not uncommon, I’m told.”

Ah, that was it then. Raphael supposed that was true. It was the nature of unattached soldiers, and their camp followers. However-

“I haven’t known him long, so maybe I shouldn’t say as much, but I think I have a good idea of his character,” Raphael began. “He strikes me as loyal, good-natured.”

Donatello’s eyes searched him, examined the plains of his face, much like he had earlier. And maybe it was the shadows cast from the fire’s glow, or the light it reflected in his dark eyes, but this look seemed….softer.

Finally, the man gave a quiet laugh,

“I like to think myself a decent judge of character.” he said, gaze returning to the fire, “But I think perhaps the recent events, the war, has left me more cynical than I once was.” Raphael mused at that.

“Not necessarily a bad thing in these times.” he reassured. Donatello nodded thoughtfully.

“Still,” he said, “I am surprisingly glad to be proven wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!


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